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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951920">Call Me If You Need My Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems'>EmAndFandems</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>30th anniversary celebration, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Omens Lockdown, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), mentions of - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:47:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after the call ended, they're both back to pining. Surely there must be some way to get around this quarantine business...?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Call Me If You Need My Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In honor of the 30th anniversary special video! Title from Queen's "Call Me." Does this fic make sense? Maybe. Did I enjoy writing it tremendously? Yes. Enjoy.<br/>CW for alcohol mention and, of course, discussion of COVID-19 safety measures.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Crowley set down the phone. Two days. He had two days to find something interesting to be occupied with and then he’d give it up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He picked up his phone again. Turned it on, swiped to the alarm app. No option for a 2-month alarm; no, he’d have to go through calendar for a thing like that. Should’ve realized. Crowley switched apps and paused.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>May 7: real estate guy</em>, the screen said, and he remembered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley, safe from holy disapproval in his empty flat, muttered a word that was definitely not <em>nice</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They’d set the date ages ago, so long ago he’d forgotten how close it had become. After a month of using his phone mainly for mindless match-3 games and causing arguments on Twitter, Crowley had– somehow– entirely forgotten the appointment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wouldn’t have missed it, of course, because his phone would’ve sent him a reminder for the morning of. Possibly the night before as well, if he’d set it to, which he probably hadn’t. He’d’ve woken to a lit screen and a notification. Rolled out of bed (or off the wall, or down from the ceiling, depending how bored he’d been) and called up Aziraphale. They would’ve headed out of town. Down the M25 to the M23 and past a little place he always claimed was named for him, which Aziraphale made a point of disbelieving, which was why Crowley insisted on bringing it up. Onto the A23 and then park outside some little place near Brighton. Get there in time despite “usual traffic” because of– not miracles, course not, just excellent driving skills and clean living.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They would have been shown their choices. They would have been given a little while to think it over. They would have argued and compromised and all that and then… Then they would have had it. Their place. To stay at, together.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley turned off the phone in his hand and placed it gently on the bedside table. No use thinking of all that now. Two days and then he’d sleep through the day they’d picked out. As well as quite a bit more, for good measure. Two days.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He started to pace.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale stared at the phone. His fingers twitched to lift it off the receiver again and dial the familiar number but he resisted. Crowley was probably asleep already. Or busy. And Aziraphale had been the one to cut off the conversation, anyway; he couldn’t possibly call back immediately. Like he’d changed his mind.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sighed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The bookshop air swirled with dust. His nose wrinkled. Goodness, how long had it been since he’d cleaned in here? Not that it needed it, of course, and the atmosphere he had carefully cultivated was of precisely the right calibration to drive away the maximum number of customers, but… There were no customers now. No one had set foot in the place in weeks, not even the desperate bookish types who were usually more likely to disregard the Closed sign and knock anyway. It was quiet and still and <em>so boring.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ought he to tidy the place a bit? Aziraphale considered it. Hardly worth the miracle. And doing it by hand was out of the question. A job like this! Centuries of dust and probably mildew, judging by the smell at least, and… No, absolutely not, he would <em>not</em> fall prey to the urge to clean.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale swiped a finger across his desk. “Oh, alright,” he said wretchedly, and sank back in his chair. If he couldn’t call Crowley and he couldn’t possibly bake <em>any</em> more cake– which was the case only because he had no more available flat surfaces to set them down on– then he had to find something to do, didn’t he? And this would certainly keep him busy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It couldn’t be official until he’d written it in his schedule, though. It wouldn’t feel right. Aziraphale sifted through the piles of paper on his desk, pushing aside dozens of half-read books and unread mail. Was that it, under the tax forms? Yes. He pulled out the planner and turned to today’s date.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Or he tried to. The page was stuck. Some sort of adhesive? Had he spilled something on his desk lately? Surely not; his mugs were all miracled against it. He tugged at the page futilely and instead managed to free the next page.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>May 7: Cottage.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” said Aziraphale, so quietly that even the dust motes didn’t notice. “Yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It wasn’t that he’d forgotten. He knew perfectly well when he had things to do; he meant to keep his appointments, thank you very much. It was only that he’d somewhat… let the time slip by, stuck here, with nothing significant to mark time’s passage. Normally he had a better grasp of this type of thing. Now he was reduced to staring at the page with a sort of regretful feeling festering in his chest. But perhaps that was just the sourdough bread.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Next week! And they were stuck indoors. The agent’s office would be closed, even if they did somehow meet up despite what he’d just told Crowley. No chance of flipping through glossy pictures of seaside views, or debating how many bookshelves were really necessary for a sitting room, or considering what plants would thrive best in the soil. Nothing but a pile of books he’d been meaning to get around to and still couldn’t bring himself to open. Nothing but a phone that still wasn’t–</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The phone rang. He eyed it suspiciously, and picked up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mr. Fell &amp; Co., I’m afraid we’re closed,” began Aziraphale, “and we don’t do delivery–”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Angel, s’me, I’m not trying to buy anything.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh! Crowley! You– I thought you would be asleep by now.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley made a noise that Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out over the phone. “Nah.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’ve found something to do, then?” Aziraphale tried not to let on that he was still staring at the word <em>cottage</em>. He tore his eyes away so that he wouldn’t accidentally say it aloud, but it was still the only thought in his head. “At home, I mean.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Still at the flat, yeah,” said Crowley. “Listen, though, I was thinking–”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes?” Oh, too eager, dear fellow, slow down. “I mean. What is it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley was silent for a second too long. Aziraphale started to wonder if the line was disconnected. He tapped the receiver. “Hello?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, I’m here.” Crowley’s voice was… odd. Hesitant in a way Aziraphale hadn’t heard in a while. “Just… thinking.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, you mentioned.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You said…” Crowley hesitated again and Aziraphale held his breath. “Said not to come because of all the… exposure. Broken rules and all. Right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I did,” Aziraphale said. He found it very difficult not to add on a <em>But.</em> Something like,<em> But come over anyway, please, I miss you, I’d like to see you. But forget what I said before. But I’m dreadfully bored and I was wrong, I am miserable. But I almost cleaned the bookshop without you here to stop me doing stupid things.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He kept quiet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale startled, “you’ve already got wine and stuff at your place, yeah? So if I… for example… knew a way I could get to Soho without passing a single human person, it wouldn’t matter I came empty-handed?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Quarantine, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, unsure why he was speaking at all. “You couldn’t come over to me anyway; we’re not meant to be making social calls.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>We’re</em> not meant to be doing anything,” said Crowley, “and anyway, it’s been two weeks since either of us saw another person. Technically we could, uh. Merge our isolation cells, they’re calling it. No problem.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale steadied his breathing. “You mean… you could come over and it wouldn’t be breaking any of the rules?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not a one.” Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s grin. “Sound good?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, <em>very </em>good,” said Aziraphale, “exceedingly good in fact.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley laughed. “I won’t take offence this time,” he said. “Just the once, mind you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course, dear.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Right then. Listen, set the phone on your desk. <em>Do not hang up.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale frowned. “What?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He heard Crowley’s sigh. “Please?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oh, that was unusual. That was strange enough to be worth a listen. “Done it,” Aziraphale said at a higher volume, no longer holding the phone and feeling like his hands were very empty without it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stand back,” warned Crowley, so he did, and then Crowley was <em>there.</em> Shaking his head and blinking a lot more than he usually did, but standing in the bookshop, totally himself, and absolutely impossible.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How…?” Aziraphale stretched out a hand and felt Crowley’s sleeve. He was definitely here.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Explanations over sponge cake and cabernet?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale tutted. “Don’t be absurd,” he said, already leading the way, “you know those would pair dreadfully together.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked this half as much as I liked the original video &lt;3 Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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